


nightmare face

by envysparkler



Series: Reverse Robins [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian and Tim finally talk about the elephant in the room, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Reverse Robins, Scarecrow's Fear Toxin (DCU), Whump, the clown-shaped one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27886600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/envysparkler/pseuds/envysparkler
Summary: “I don’t care what face you’re wearing,” Damian seethed, hands locked around Tim’s throat, “I will kill you as many times as it takes to stick, and I will make sure each death is so painful you will wish it was the last.”
Relationships: Tim Drake & Damian Wayne
Series: Reverse Robins [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2017735
Comments: 90
Kudos: 641





	nightmare face

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of people have pointed out that it's funny that Bruce hasn't shown up, to which I responded by continuing to keep him in the background.
> 
> What can I say? Maybe crime has reduced slightly in this version of Gotham, maybe Batman has more time to devote to the Justice League, maybe the author really gets a kick out of writing big brother Damian's faltering attempts at emotional conversations.

Tim was in the middle of destroying a rising gang’s base of operations and cleaning out their accounts when his comm pinged with an incoming call.

It had been the compromise – Tim allowed his line to be connected to the Cave, and in return, Bruce and Damian would stop stalking out his safehouse. Tim wanted to be able to sleep without the prickling sensation of being watched.

“Hood,” Tim answered, not pausing his typing.

“Hey,” Jason responded, breathless and quiet, “Where are you?”

Tim paused his typing. “What happened?” he asked levelly.

“Nightwing and I were investigating an operation in the Bowery,” Jason, keeping his voice low, “One of them hit him with some kind of gas, and he’s not responding.”

“Do you have a rebreather?” Tim asked, casting one last look at the half-finished job before sighing and getting up.

“Yeah, and I’m in the rafters,” Jason said, “The thugs we were following cleared out as soon as they threw the gas canister.” A small, hesitant pause. “Whatever it is, I think it’s been laced with fear toxin.”

Tim nearly missed a step as he jumped to the next rooftop, and immediately picked up his pace as he recovered. “Robin, get the hell out of there,” he growled.

“What –”

“ _Robin_.”

A moment’s silence. “Fine,” Jason snapped, followed by shuffling movements. Tim let out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding – Jason either lapsed into sullen acquiescence or screaming defiance when Tim gave him an order, and Tim was glad that this fell into the latter.

Damian’s self-control was the product of years and _years_ of practice. It was not instinctive or automatic, and under the influence of terror, he would always revert to his earliest training.

It took Tim five minutes to reach the roof that Jason was perched on, and he ignored the glower as he stepped past him. “Batmobile’s enroute to our location,” Jason recited tersely, “It’ll be here in ten minutes.”

“Good. Don’t come inside unless I give the all-clear.”

“Hood –”

“Robin. Do not come inside unless I give the all-clear. _Do you understand_.”

Jason’s scowl reached epic proportions. Tim wanted to grab his shoulders and scream _‘do you remember what happened the last time you didn’t listen to me?’_ but he knew it was pointless. Jason’s rebellious streak manifested differently from Tim’s stubbornness, but if they pushed him, the end result would be the same.

“Robin, please.”

“Fine,” Jason huffed, crossing his arms, “I’ll stay outside until the Batmobile gets here.” Tim took the win, partial as it was.

Tim kept the helmet on as he crept into the warehouse, listening for any sound of movement. Jason was right, the place looked deserted, half-full bags of weapons lying abandoned on the tables. Tim reached the center of the room and paused, turning in a slow circle to scan the shadows. “Nightwing?” he called out slowly, trying to ignore the shiver of fear prickling down his spine.

Nightwing’s uniform was almost entirely black, save for the design detailed on his chest that Tim supposed, in the right light, if you squinted, could be called a very, very, _very_ dark blue. He had years of training to move like a wraith, like a shadow, far more than Tim had ever had.

Which was to say, he didn’t register any movement until there was a sword swinging at his head.

Tim ducked, throwing himself to the side and coming out of the roll to see Nightwing swinging for his head _again_. Well, Tim couldn’t say he was surprised by this turn of events – the last time he’d been face-to-face with a Nightwing high on fear toxin, there had definitely been attempted murder involved.

The last time he’d been face-to-face with a Nightwing dosed with fear toxin, he hadn’t been the Red Hood.

“Nightwing,” Tim snapped out, trying to dodge the sword and the kicks at the same time, ducking a strike aimed for his neck and lashing out with a kick that landed squarely in Nightwing’s ribs, sending the older man stumbling back a half step as Tim immediately put distance between them.

He didn’t go for his grapple. He’d learned _that_ lesson the hard way.

At least this time, they were both on the ground, and there was no convenient skyscraper for Damian to throw Tim off of.

“Nightwing,” Tim said slowly, watching the other vigilante straighten from his crouch, “It’s me. It’s Hood.”

Before, Tim wouldn’t have even attempted to talk him down. Damian had, after all, known _exactly_ who Tim Drake was back when he threw him off of the W.E. building. But after the League, after Damian had come for him, after that _apology_ , when Tim had been so sure he’d never hear the words _‘I’m sorry’_ cross Damian’s lips –

“I know who you are,” Nightwing snarled, “ _Hood_.”

Well, it’d been worth a shot. Tim didn’t have time to think of a better strategy, because the sword was coming for his face again, and it was too sudden to dodge.

His vision split into fragments as cracks spiderwebbed across his helmet.

“You are going to die _screaming_ for what you did to my family!” Nightwing shouted, and Tim couldn’t get the helmet off fast enough – the sword swung again, and Tim squeezed his eyes shut as glass splintered. “For what you did to my brother!”

Tim ignored the sliver of _hurt_ pulsing in his heart in favor of scrambling at the fingers cutting off his air supply.

“I don’t care what face you’re wearing,” Damian seethed, hands locked around Tim’s throat, “I will kill you as many times as it takes to stick, and I will make sure each death is so painful you will wish it was the last.”

Tim kicked out, blindly aiming for Nightwing’s instep – his boot connected, and the fingers around his throat loosened.

Tim yanked himself free and fumbled at the edges of his helmet, trying to get it off before a glass shard sliced through his eye. He managed to tug it off a split second before a hand curled in the collar of his jacket and flung him back – Tim twisted to break the grip, but Nightwing merely followed through with a kick, sending Tim staggering back into a table.

The edge of the table connected painfully with his spine, and Tim hissed as he nearly dropped to one knee, drawing a gun as he straightened.

The rubber bullet crashing into Nightwing’s knee caused him to flinch, but didn’t stall his approach, and the curl of fear coalescing in Tim’s heart had nothing to do with any poison gas as Nightwing dodged his next bullet and slammed the sword into his hand so hard that the gun went skidding out of Tim’s hands.

“Nightwing,” Tim rasped, unsure of how to make it better but certain that he couldn’t make things _worse_ – Jason wasn’t going to stay on the roof forever, and it was a bit difficult to come up with ideas with a furious Nightwing in front of him and old instincts screaming at him to find cover and hope that Damian got bored and wandered away.

He ducked the sword again, and with the familiar memory of a staff spinning through his fingers, it was easy to twist and latch and _yank_ , combined with a jab to armored ribs and a snap up at the unprotected face to tear the sword out of Nightwing’s hands and send it skidding into a corner.

Tim didn’t have the chance to savor his victory. Hands curled into the front of his jacket and a kick slammed into his ankle – Tim made a startled sound as he crumpled, an enraged snarl filling his vision as he hit the floor, his head slamming against concrete hard enough to make the world fuzzy for a moment.

When his vision cleared, it was to a raised fist and a sneer, and Tim sucked in a sharp breath, hands raising to block.

But the blow never came. Not to his face, nor his unprotected midsection.

Instead, he got a sharp inhale. “ _Drake_?” Nightwing asked in a tone of extreme surprise.

Tim warily lowered his hands. Nightwing was still straddling him, hand raised, visibly shocked.

“Drake,” Nightwing breathed out again, an unidentifiable emotion in his tone, “You’re _alive_.”

Tim was tempted to make a dead joke, but instead he squawked as Nightwing lunged for his throat – this wasn’t fear toxin, this was some strange mood-switching concoction, Tim hadn’t seen anyone go from shock to strangulation so quickly since the last time he’d faced the Riddler – only to freeze when Nightwing pressed two fingers to his pulse.

“What?” Tim managed to rasp out, only to flinch back at the flash of a wingding – but Damian wasn’t going for his throat. He was going for…Tim’s armor?

The blade managed to slice through the kevlar with a few strong tugs and Tim stared, confused, as Damian yanked the armor out of the way and pressed a hand against Tim’s chest, separated from skin by only a thin shirt.

“You’re alive,” Damian repeated, and Tim finally pinned down the emotion as _hope_.

Damian made a low, choked sound – Tim would’ve called it a sob on anyone else – and collapsed like someone had cut his strings, his ear pressed right above Tim’s heart.

Tim was too shocked to move. Or even breathe, for that matter.

“You know what?” Robin’s snarky tone echoed from above him, “I take it back, thank you for saving me from Nightwing’s cuddles.”

Tim bared his teeth in a snarl, but judging by Jason’s grin, it lost its effectiveness when he was pinned down by a hundred and eighty pounds of dead weight.

“If you take a picture,” Tim threatened, seeing Jason rummaging in his pockets, “I will _murder_ you.”

Jason ignored him with the ease of long practice and Tim closed his eyes and growled at the flash and click of the shutter. “The little bird will never believe me otherwise,” Jason cackled, “And our ride’s here, if you two are done snuggling.”

“I know where you sleep,” Tim reminded him, and winced as he tried to sit up – Damian fiercely resisted any attempt to dislodge him, clinging to Tim like his heartbeat was the only thing keeping him alive. “Some help?”

With Jason’s assistance, Tim managed to get upright, awkwardly supporting Damian. Damian was built along the lines of Bruce, and sure, the Lazarus Pit had given Tim the growth spurt that a childhood of neglect had denied, but the two inches he had on Damian was not going to help him carry a man that was only less bulky than _Batman_.

Judging by Jason’s snickers, they looked as stupid as Tim felt, and Tim groaned in relief when he finally managed to get them inside the Batmobile. He’d be thankful that no one else saw Nightwing clinging to the Red Hood – an image that would destroy both their reputations – but Jason had a wicked glint in his grin, and he would bet that the pictures would be in Steph’s hands in less than an hour.

“The Justice League is going to be laughing at us by the end of the day,” Tim hissed, trying to extricate Damian’s fingers from his iron grip on Tim’s jacket.

“No, you guys look cute,” Jason laughed, pausing a ping from his phone, “Black Bat agrees! Apollo sent a long string of laughing emojis – she says she’s forwarding to Flamebird, which means Supes is going to know in five minutes. B wants to know if the world is ending and, if not, who got hurt.”

Tim slouched further in his seat and contemplated if he could shove Jason out of the moving car. Jason had put the car on autopilot to respond to his messages, so they wouldn’t even crash.

He groaned at another flash-and-click, “ _Robin_.”

“B didn’t believe me when I said no one was getting murdered.”

Tim growled and tugged fruitlessly at Damian’s grip – maybe a crowbar could break Damian’s hold – before giving up and letting his head fall back against the headrest.

“If you take another picture, I will break your phone,” Tim said mildly, eyes closed, and there was a suspicious shuffling movement before the autopilot disengaged.

* * *

Damian woke up with the jittery aftereffects of adrenaline, the lingering traces of panic, and a dead boy’s name on his lips. He immediately scanned his surroundings – Cave, suit and mask off, no IV, no Batman –

Jason bounced into view, grinning, and Damian narrowed his eyes. “How long was I out?” he rasped, doing a self-assessment for injuries and levering out of the cot when there appeared to be none.

“Half a day,” Jason replied, “You got hit with some new gas – it had traces of fear toxin.”

That explained the adrenaline and panic. Damian took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting the vestiges of a half-remembered nightmare seep out with it. “Everyone else?”

“Everyone’s fine. We lost the thugs though,” Jason frowned, and then seemed to hesitate.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Jason said too quickly.

“Jason, what did you do?”

“I did nothing!” the boy protested, “I just sent the pictures to family – _Steph’s_ the one who sent them to Jon, and uh, it reached quite a few people after that. Before Tim hacked into the Watchtower and sent out a virus.”

Damian wasn’t sure which part of that statement he should focus on first.

“ _What pictures_?”

Jason was grinning again. “The one with you cuddling Tim,” he teased, and Damian felt something in his brain short-circuit, “He was really, _really_ pissed though – his eyes were definitely glowing by the time we got back to the Cave, and I thought he was going to snap and take Dick’s head off when he wanted to join the hug. Thankfully, you passed out at that point, and Tim left to calm down by punching people.”

Damian pinched his nose to stave off his growing headache and tried to remember what happened last night.

He recalled the terror clearly, recalled the grinning too-pale face he always saw in his nightmares, a dark-haired boy that died screaming his name – and then the red helmet, a trick that wouldn’t fool Damian, he could see the smile stretched across the gleaming metal –

And then the helmet had come off. Tim’s wide, wide eyes – not blue, not anymore, Damian had _failed_ – but alive, and that was the only thing that mattered, making sure he was alive, making sure he stayed that way.

“Tim! You’re back!” Damian groaned and wondered if he could go back to sleep. Instead, he straightened, opening his eyes and watching Tim approach them, automatically scanning the armor for any traces of blood or other hints that the night had ended lethally for anyone.

Tim caught the gaze and stiffened, a scowl spreading across his face as he neared. “Hey, Jason,” Tim said, “Alfred was calling for you.”

It was an obviously transparent lie – Tim had entered through the waterfall, not the Manor – but Jason picked up on the undercurrent of tension and edged a step back.

“You guys aren’t going to murder each other, right?” he asked slowly, “Because I told B you weren’t, and I don’t want to be the one to –”

“We’re not going to murder each other,” Tim said, his tone not at all reassuring.

Jason edged back another step, shot a glance at Damian, and took the excuse, bolting for the stairs.

Damian stared at Tim. Tim stared at Damian.

“Was there something you wished to discuss?” Damian asked, fighting the urge to cross his arms.

“You could say that,” Tim said, his tone unreadable. His face was blank, and his eyes were flickering green.

“Are you going to get around to it anytime soon?” Damian asked, his voice a little sharper.

Tim’s eyes narrowed. “Damian,” he said, his voice level, “What happened to the Joker?”

_Oh_. Damian inwardly shouted curses in every language he knew, keeping his face carefully blank.

“He was assassinated,” Damian said flatly, “Everything pointed to the League. Ra’s confirmed it.”

Tim stared at him, and then took a slow breath. “Yes,” he said quietly, “That’s what he told me too. And even then, even when everything I could see was green, I never believed him. It didn’t make any sense.”

Damian arched an eyebrow.

“If I had died – if the Joker had truly taken me from Ra’s, sure,” Tim gave a half-shrug, “I’d understand. But Ra’s dug up the coffin immediately after the funeral, and had me in the Pit before the Joker was killed. That’s where it doesn’t make any sense.”

Tim stepped closer. Damian didn’t step back.

“I know Ra’s,” Tim said quietly, “I know how his mind works. I know he would’ve never given up the chance to hold another one of my triggers in his hands, to hold the Joker above my head any time I didn’t listen. He didn’t order the Joker’s assassination.”

“He was killed by the League,” Damian repeated, because it was the truth. He didn’t meet Tim’s burning gaze.

“I read the file,” Tim replied coolly, “It was one of the first things I went looking for when I hacked into the Batcomputer. The Joker was poisoned in his cell in Arkham. By a shadow, it’s whispered.” A beat. “Batman’s report says perpetrator unknown.”

Damian let out a slow exhale. Batman had come to Bludhaven that night, and Damian had screamed at him, vicious and hurting and _done_ – and Batman had taken off his mask and given him a tired look.

_“You are always welcome at the Manor,” Father said, aching and weary and grieving, “But I will_ not _tolerate killing in Gotham.”_

Tim stepped forward again, close enough that Damian had no choice but to meet his stare.

“ _Why_?”

Damian felt the old stirrings of rage, an echo of the Pit howling inside of him – he was sure that his eyes flashed, but Tim didn’t step back, staring at Damian with emotions blurring across his face too fast to track.

“Gotham needed to know the cost of a Robin’s death.”

It had taken fifteen minutes for the Joker to die, and he’d spent every minute screaming in agony. There was no smile on the corpse’s face.

No Rogue had ever dared to attack Jason the way they’d attacked Tim.

“You didn’t give a _shit_ about Robin after I took up the name,” Tim said, low, “You would’ve happily offered my head on a silver platter to any Rogue in the city, Damian, so _why_ –”

“Because he killed my brother!” Damian snapped. Tim fell silent, stumbling a step back as his face went blank.

Slowly, he shook his head. “You risked Bruce’s rage for me?” Tim asked, clearly disbelieving.

“I wouldn’t still have a father if not for you,” Damian said quietly – he remembered standing at the grave, hollow and aching, and he remembered Tim screwing up the courage to talk to him, and he remembered shouting until Tim fled.

And then a whisper from his old contacts in the League, Ra’s and his unhealthy interest in a vigilante that called himself Red Robin, rumors of an attack – he’d gotten there just in time to stop Ra’s from throwing Tim into the Pit to recover from his injuries.

Clearly hadn’t done much good in the long run.

But they’d found Father, and Tim had come home, and they were a _family_ – Father and Pennyworth and Stephanie and Cassandra and Tim and him, all together, the happiest two months in Damian’s life.

“I had a family,” Damian whispered, “And the Joker tore it away.” And for that, he had to pay.

Damian turned fully away from Tim, unwilling to see the expression on Tim’s face – a sneer, too-little-too-late? A disapproving frown as he recounted all of Damian’s arguments against killing? A blank, dismissive stare – the crime in Gotham hadn’t started with the Joker, and it certainly didn’t end with him, so what good did killing _one_ man do?

“Thank you,” Tim said softly.

By the time he turned back around, Tim was walking towards the stairs to the Manor. “And you still have a family,” he called over his shoulder.

One Damian had once thought he’d never get back.

The Joker’s smile would never stop haunting Damian’s nightmares. But it was a small price to pay, to ensure he wouldn’t haunt anyone else’s.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: *looks at Nightwing!Dick killing the Joker*
> 
> Me: yeah there's absolutely no way Damian left him alive.
> 
> More little fun facts for this AU: Steph is Apollo, Cass was Robin when Tim was hunting down lost-in-timestream!Bruce, and Tim's first dunk in the Lazarus Pit brought him back to life but didn't bring his mind with it.


End file.
